


Somewhere Over The Rainbow

by BigBadWolfe



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst, Character death but from old age, F/F, Soulmates AU, ok so it's a story that stretches over their lives together, so it's not really angsty always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7888108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBadWolfe/pseuds/BigBadWolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bernie had grown up listening to the elusive tales of those who had found their soulmates, the ones who had so willingly given up the colour in their lives because their love was worth much more than the vibrancy of a sunset or the picturesque vista of the night sky. Bernie had always wondered why it worked like that, why love meant giving up all the beauty you saw around you to instead be replaced by black and white. </p><p>And then she met Serena. </p><p>(Or the Soulmates AU where you know who your soulmate is because the world goes black and white. Colour only returns when one of you die).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Over The Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I was prompted on Tumblr a while ago to do a Soulmates AU. And then this happened and all I can say is I'm sorry. Where you can see in colour but once you meet your soulmate your world turns black and white. If your soulmate dies you get to see colour again.
> 
> (I recommend listening to 'The Lumineers: Nobody Knows' whilst reading this. It helped me write it!)

...

When she’d been younger there was only ever one thing to talk about. Soulmates. It was a word that was ingrained into her as quickly and as harshly as her own name. Soulmates were real life fairy tales - at least that was what Bernie had always thought. She’d grown up listening to the elusive tales of those who had found their soulmates, the ones who had so willingly given up the colour in their lives because their love was worth much more than the vibrancy of a sunset or the picturesque vista of the night sky. Bernie had always wondered why it worked like that, why love meant giving up all the beauty you saw around you to instead be replaced by black and white.

But, as Serena shifted against her, sleepily curling an arm around her waist and drawing her closer, she understood. True love was by far the most beautiful thing she could ever hope to see, to feel – and it needed no colour. Serena was glorious in black and white, a piece of art with every line and curve of her body highlighted in waning shadow.

...

**But as all good stories must, let's start at the beginning.**

...

Bernie had found that her time at Holby was full of surprises.

There was the job offer to begin with, which was certainly unexpected after her initial reasons for winding up at the hospital. Then the fast and firm friendships she’d made in only a handful of weeks. However there had been the very fact that she’d found herself wanting to stay there in the first place, which she’d thought had been the greatest surprise of all.

However, as she found herself outside the Hospital entrance one balmy evening, fiddling with an unlit cigarette, contemplating lighting it, she was in for the biggest surprise of them all. Her ears pricked at the sound of a pitched voice, looked up as she heard the end of a very irate conversation. She half smiled as she realised that the woman in front of her was having car troubles – that she could deal with. Marital problems, probably not so much.

“Engine been growling or whining?” She called out, half mumbled as she pursed the cigarette between her lips, taking the first few steps towards the other woman.

The woman in front of her turned at the sound of her voice and Bernie was forced to blink, forced to put any other notion of surprise completely out of her head as colour drained away before her very eyes. She pulled the cigarette from between her lips, dropping it absently into her bag as she almost floated forwards, as though something had hooked her by the navel and was dragging her along. It was undeniable, a force to be reckoned with.

They stood toe to toe, the nameless woman staring at her, phone clasped redundantly at her side.

Bernie blinked again, harder this time, as though she could somehow clear away the black and white that had suddenly pervaded everything. But it didn’t shift. Everything stayed exactly as it was, a sudden shadow world.

“You –“ Bernie murmured, “you’re-“

“So it would seem,” the woman said softly, her head tilted to the side as she observed her. She frowned for a moment, more confused rather than angry so far as Bernie could tell, before a smile alit her face. She stretched out her hand. “Serena Campbell”.

“Berenice – Bernie Wolfe. Trauma Surgeon and apparently your soulmate”.

…

Unlike everything else in her life, Serena Campbell seemed to make sense. She was a woman of her word, fiercely proud and protective and as talented a surgeon as she’d ever seen. But beyond that she was kind. It was something that Bernie wasn’t used to – kindness. At least not when it was directed at her. But Serena showed it to her on a daily basis, a light in the cold darkness that had life had become.

Somehow, amazingly, Serena was there through it all – through every trouble she had, supporting her at every turn even when it felt like she should just be left to sort through the ashen remains of her life. She was there when she’d signed off the divorce papers, and when her son had been taken in after an RTC; always there with a soft, decisive touch and the calm words she needed to hear. Serena was there even when she didn’t deserve it, when she lied to her face, when she took her for granted – when she ran. Her presence was like a warm hand to the shoulder, guiding her in the direction she needed to go, showing her the way.

She was, when Bernie sat down and thought about it, someone who made her want to be better – need to be better. She made her brave and proud and strong.

Bernie had once thought that she didn’t need a soulmate to feel love, real and true love. When she found Alex in the dirt and grit of the dessert she thought that maybe that was it – maybe she’d finally found her one and only. She’d loved her, of course she had and it was real and whole and wonderful. But it was nothing like what she had found in Serena.

Serena felt like finally finding home after searching for it for so long. She felt like safety and acceptance and unconditional support.

She was love, plain and simple.

…

Their twice weekly dates, which Bernie had shyly suggested one afternoon as they’d shared a coffee, soon turned into a daily occurrence. They had dinner, went to movies, walked and talked and suddenly –

Serena was kissing her. And Bernie, without hesitance, kissed her back as she threaded her fingers through Serena’s hair and drew her closer. Already she was close to tears as everything drew together into one neat point in her chest, as though the entire world had been put to rights, her chaotic mind finally quieting.

“I know it goes without saying, I suppose – considering we’re soulmates,” Serena whispered shyly, as her fingertips mapped their way across Bernie’s face, “but I love you. I’m _in_ love with you”.

Bernie’s breath staggered out of her as she surged forwards to kiss Serena again, bruising this time, her hands settling at Serena’s hips instead.

“I love you too,” Bernie eventually managed to reply, stroking her fingers just inside of Serena’s blouse, thumb arching across her stomach. “If only we’d found each other sooner”.

“Better late than never,” Serena joked, and Bernie grinned back, giddy with her overwhelming happiness, blithely unaware to the fact that Serena was leading her towards the stairs. “Normally I would say that we’re moving too fast but –“ Serena slipped her hand into Bernie’s, fingers tangling together, “I think we’ve both waited far too long for this, don’t you?”

Nodding emphatically, Bernie all but chased Serena up the stairs and into the bedroom.

…

It was intoxicating to have Bernie splayed beneath her like this, to watch her, taste her, touch her as she writhed up. Her body wasn’t the youthful depictions of perfection; age having worn well into her skin, fine lines woven across her face, softer stomach and skin but still she was the most beautiful thing Serena had ever seen.

Her fingers danced across the slope of Bernie’s hip, skimming across her stomach to dip between her legs. She touched her slowly, gently, afraid to break the pristine clarity of the moment. But as Bernie’s hips twitched up into her hand, fingers clasping at the sheets as she bit back a moan, Serena could not help but continue the steady movement of her fingers, delving lower. She could hear the rasp of Bernie’s breath increase with each slow caress of her thumb across her thighs, the sound stopping altogether when she ceased her movement.

Deliberately slowly, Serena bent her head to lick up the valley of Bernie’s breasts, trailing up the same scar that had almost cost Bernie her life. She stopped to nip at a jutting collarbone, almost laughing as Bernie hissed, fingers uncurling to grab hold of her shoulders instead. From her position straddling Bernie’s thigh, she had the advantage. She had Bernie pinned beneath her, a wonder to be marvelled at, to be revered and adored.

She traced her hands along Bernie’s chest, feeling the sweat that beaded its way across Bernie’s body, the sheen making her glisten in the low light, forcing Serena’s eye to travel across her body as though counting stars, tracking constellations in an endlessly beautiful vista.

Serena rolled her hips, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as her own body twitched, rocking against Bernie’s thigh as if to alleviate the torturous ache that ran through her. Of course it only made it worse, but Bernie’s hands had fallen to her hips and were clutching tightly, encouraging the seamless roll of her hips, her eyes dark and lustful as she looked up at her, taking in each detail of Serena’s face.

Tugging Serena down by the shoulder, leaning up halfway to kiss her even as her other hand still rocked Serena’s body against her thigh, Bernie couldn’t help but grin. It was endlessly satisfying to watch her fall apart, to see the foundations of the woman shaken bare until it was just them; just their heart beats and their breath intermingling in the silence.

 

They didn’t stop for hours.

…

They’d talked often about what they looked like, back in the days of colour. It was out of curiosity more than longing, wanting to picture one another as best as they could. However, much to Bernie’s chagrin Serena had gotten frustrated with her more than once in her ‘less than satisfactory’ description of her appearance.

“You can’t just say blonde, Bernie. I want to imagine it –“

Bernie huffed a sigh as she rubbed a hand over her face, leaning heavily against the back wall of the office. “I’m not a poet! I don’t know – it was blonde and –“

“I swear Bernie –“

“Ok, ok alright. It was,” Bernie’s fingers strayed unconsciously to her hair, “it was golden. Like – do you remember when the sun would stream through a window and it was just a patch of light on the floor. Warm and soft and golden”. Bernie pulled at her hair. “It was like that. Like summer sun”.

Serena smiled, her face soft and her eyes misty, and Bernie grinned as she realised she’d done a good job.

“I remember,” Serena murmured, as her fingers stroked through Bernie’s hair. “What about your eyes?”

“Serena,” Bernie whined in protest, looking hopefully towards the office door as though someone would come bursting through at any moment to save her.

“Please?”

“They’re not really a lot different,” she shrugged, “I’ve always had dark eyes. But they used to be brown –“

“If you describe them as chocolate brown we really can’t be friends anymore”.

“I wasn’t going to!” Bernie huffed, though in fact she had, and she hurriedly struggled to think of something else to compare them to. “This is going to sound stupid but – you know the colour of acoustic guitars, the really deep mahogany ones that seemed to shine like they’d been polished every day for twenty years?”

Serena nodded.

“They were like that I suppose. Dark but warm – ok, I’m starting to sound like an idiot”.

“Only starting?” Serena teased gently.

“You bloody told me to start waxing lyrical about my appearance!”

Serena shushed her, her thumbs smoothing across Bernie’s cheeks that were warm beneath her touch, wondering if she could imagine her partner’s face in anything but black and white. It was hard, like imagining a colour that didn’t exist – her mind trying to stretch and comprehend what she couldn’t hope to because she’d never get it quite right. The colours in her mind would never be the right shade or hue or softness compared to the real thing.

Bernie tilted her head quizzically. “What about you then? If I’ve had to try and be bloody William Wordsworth, then so do you”.

Shaking her head, Serena pressed a quick kiss to Bernie’s lips. “I’m afraid I was rather dull. Brown hair and brown eyes –“

“Oh don’t you chicken out on me, Campbell. Descriptions, if you please. _I want to imagine it_ ”.

“I’ve always thought – well I used to that is – that I look like –“ Serena stuttered to a stop, but Bernie prodded her in the shoulder.

“Like?”

“Autumn”. Serena blushed at Bernie’s grin, her gaze immediately dropping to the floor. “Don’t laugh! My hair was the colour of the leaves the day before they drop. You remember, how they’d wither and hang on what seemed to be a thread, and then they’d just – fall”.

When Bernie remained silent, Serena looked back up at her to see that Bernie’s eyes were closed, watched them flicker as she tried to draw up the memory.

“My eyes aren’t all that different,” she filled in softly, stroking her fingers along Bernie’s cheek. “Maybe a shade or two darker but still – “

“Autumn,” Bernie said gently as her eyes opened, and her smile was like the sunrises that Serena liked to recall from her earlier days. “I like it. You’re the autumn to my summer”.

“And you say you’re not a poet”.

…

The years tangled together for them both until neither could really remember what it was like before they’d found each other. All they knew was that they needed each other – that they could do anything as long as they were by each other’s side. And that’s how they tackled life, with their heads held high and in the knowledge that their hearts were safe in one another’s hands.

They saw out the rest of their career together, another ten years spent in the hallowed halls of Holby General, watching people come and go. They saw Fletch thrive and his children grow, Evie becoming the new F1 which seemed to symbolise the end of their reign – the need to finally let go. It seemed fitting to pass it down to the Fletcher’s, a cyclical ending that they were both happy with.

And so, at the age of 63, the dynamic duo retired to a little bungalow on the south coast.

…

“Do you ever regret it?” Bernie asked suddenly, staring up at the ceiling as they lay in bed. Serena rolled over, resting her head on Bernie’s shoulder as she wrapped an arm over her stomach, immediately comforted by their closeness. It had been years, two decades nearly, since they’d first fallen in to bed together, and yet she still felt that same thrill whenever they touched – a spark that would never go.

“What?”

Bernie shifted slightly until she could tangle her fingers in Serena’s hair, her thumb automatically stroking the nape of her neck.

“Me. Having to give up colour and –“

“Stop”. Serena pushed herself up until she was half slumped against the headboard, staring down at Bernie with a confused frown. She cupped her cheek. “Stop. What’s brought this on love?”

Bernie chewed her lip anxiously, and Serena was struck with how much it made her look like her younger self. How she’d been distracted countless times when they’d been working by that exact same movement. “Did you know it’s been nearly twenty years since that day?”

Nodding, Serena smoothed her thumb across Bernie’s cheek bone. “Of course I do. I’m not likely to forget the day I met you, am I?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Am I – was I worth it?” Bernie asked, her voice breaking as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Immediately Serena smoothed it away as the ache in her chest grew, confused as to where Bernie’s uncertainty was coming from. A heaviness settled itself in her chest, only growing as Bernie drew in a laboured breath, but she tried not to linger on it for too long. She could figure it out later when they both weren’t so tired. She had time.

“Always,” she breathed, angling Bernie’s face upwards before she kissed her softly, “always”.

…

Bernie passed her the letter the next morning. Even though her whole life seemed to be crumpling in on itself, she felt a strange sense of relief because she finally understood – the odd questions and the tears and the shortness of breath. She understood.

Bernie was dying.

Ten years ago, maybe even five, Pulmonary Fibrosis would have been a thing they could have dealt with. Though there was still no cure for it they could’ve taken preventative measures, could have changed Bernie’s lifestyle in order to help her but now – now everything seemed to be too late. Serena knew enough about it, of course she did. She was, or rather had been, a doctor and she knew all too well about the toll it took on the body: decreased oxygen levels that, if it went untreated as Bernie’s had, caused pulmonary hypertension. And that – that caused heart failure.

“Bernie,” Serena managed to whisper, finally tearing her eyes away from the letter in her hand that talked of the possible emergency measures to strengthen Bernie’s failing heart. But she knew, they both knew, that she was already too far gone for them to help. She tried to swallow past the lump in throat but she couldn’t – it was suffocating.

“I’m sorry”.

Bernie’s eyes were cast down to the kitchen table, her hands knotted together. Serena’s breath caught as she looked at them because it was as if she were seeing them for the first time in years. They were so old. Bernie’s once unshakable hands that had saved lives, that had learned her body with such fervour, were shaking.

Serena almost toppled her chair as she stood up, hurrying around to Bernie’s side. She framed her face in her hands for a moment, searching Bernie’s eyes before crumbling beneath the resignation that she found there. Stifling a sob, Serena cradled Bernie’s head to her chest, almost curling entirely around her as she breathed her in, trying desperately to protect them both from the crippling truth.

As Bernie’s hands came up to blindly hook around her waist, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the material of her shirt, Serena could no longer keep her sobs at bay, her tears falling thickly into Bernie’s hair.

…

In the end, Serena had no time at all. No time to figure things out, or to process and prepare.

It happened suddenly.

Bernie had insisted on taking tea outside, adamant that it was too nice a day to miss out on. Whilst she had settled outside, Serena had made the tea, waiting for it to brew when suddenly it happened. The grey liquid in front of her turned into a milky white that was bleeding out into a mottled brown, the mug itself burst to life in a vibrant red.

Serena spun around so quickly she almost fell, her head spinning nauseatingly as colour popped out from every direction. Clinging to the countertop, she looked out of the window into the back garden that was painfully bright, every flower in bloom in a myriad of colours that she could only vaguely remember –

And there, nestled amongst the verdant grass, lay Bernie.

“No,” Serena breathed, already racing for the door as quickly as she could manage, her own legs unsteady and her breath coming short and sharp. “Please no”.

But as her knees hit the ground, the pain reverberating up her legs as her bones creaked in protest, she knew it was too late. Her hands shook as she scrabbled for a pulse but, as the colours that screamed out around her already told her, there was nothing.

She was gone.

…

The ambulance crew had carried Bernie inside, placing her on their bed before stepping outside to give her time alone as they called in the necessary people. Perched on the side of the bed, Serena peered down at Bernie’s face, unaccustomed to seeing it in full colour and yet - Bernie still looked the same to her. She could still remember the moment they met, the impish grin on Bernie's face, the touch of her hands - their first kiss.  Hesitantly her fingers traced the wrinkles on her face, trailing along the softness of Bernie's once sharp jaw line as though to highlight its stillness.

Serena dragged in a sharp breath through her nose as her fingers stopped at Bernie’s lips. She’d forgotten all about colour from the moment she’d kissed Bernie for the very first time. What was colour in the face of love, of true love? Anything beautiful, anything worth seeing in colour, was nothing compared to Bernie.

But now – now she was gone and everything was so bright. The colours burned.

Serena laid her palm flat against Bernie’s chest, as though somehow she could bring her back, as though the stillness beneath her fingertips was just a lie.

“Come back,” Serena whispered, as her fingers stroked through the soft greying gold of Bernie’s hair. “Please come back”.

…

She watched Bernie leave their home for the last time, stood outside in their front garden with her bare toes curling in the grass. As the ambulance turned the corner, disappearing from sight in a sombre flash of blue and red, she turned her head to the sky as if it could provide her with answers. Perhaps, someone up there was looking down on her and would take pity - would strike her down where she stood. But instead, all she saw was the painfully bright sky; a deep, shimmering blue.

Serena had never seen anything so awful in her entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Holby City Characters


End file.
